


Fading Dreams and a New Reality

by Albion23



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Holding Hands, Hugs, Liverpool, M/M, Weird POV, i dont really like this but ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-26 18:56:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1698998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Albion23/pseuds/Albion23
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU in which Xabi never leaves Liverpool, but Stevie still slips and Demba Ba still scores.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fading Dreams and a New Reality

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: These people are not mine, I do not own them and this never happened. Please don't sue me.

                Stevie slips.

                Demba Ba is through on goal. You squeeze your eyes shut, unable to watch. You don’t need to see the net rustle, and Simon collect the ball, you can hear the roar of the Chelsea fans loud and clear. You open your eyes and there he is, walking away from the net after chasing the goal scorer down.

                Your body is working quicker than your jumbled head is and you run towards him effortlessly. You can’t even feel your legs working. Everything is a blur. As you get closer you realise he’s not crying. He’s not upset. He’s probably just as shocked as you are.

                Without thinking your arms encircle him. He stops breathing before you hear a sob, soft among the roars of the fans. His hands slam against your back and his head falls down to your shoulder. His tears are staining your shirt and that thought in itself could make you start blubbering too. You almost are. It’s not fair. Why him of all people?

                The Kop starts singing his name then, they may have been for a while, but you only realise now. He pulls away from you and you kiss the top of his head before he goes. He wipes his eyes and he smiles down at his feet and so do you. You turn to face the players, to return to your positions because this match is not over yet. They’re all staring at the two of you. You jog off in your own separate directions as if nothing ever happened. You know it did.

                You lose the match 2-0. The title is no longer in Liverpool’s hands. It is no longer Liverpool’s to lose. It is Manchester City’s and their remaining games are easy wins. You only needed a draw but you lost. You know Stevie will never forget this. It’s not his fault.

 

*****************************************************************************************************************************************************

 

                Everyone is talking about it. On Facebook, on Twitter and even your own personal text messages. People are already saying ‘maybe next year’. It’s not over yet but those people, yourself included, know it may as well be.

                It’s a quarter past eight when there’s a knock on your door. You know it’s him before you answer it. You open the door for him and he walks straight into the living room. He frowns when he sees you’re watching Sky Sports News. The ‘famous slip’ is shown. He cringes and shuts his eyes.

                “Open,” you almost whisper. He does. They’re showing the hug. Everyone is talking about that too. On Facebook, on Twitter and even your own personal text messages. Everyone’s saying it’s the most intimate hug they’ve seen in football history. The camera is zoomed right in when you kiss the top of his head, and they do in fact catch the smile Stevie had on his face after.

                He flops down on the couch behind him with a sigh. You know he’s been thinking about this all day. You know he’s been beating himself up about it. You know the tears probably haven’t stopped. You step over his legs and flop down beside him, legs outstretched and a hand resting between your bodies. You sigh. He keeps staring straight ahead.

                He grabs your hand, then. Quickly. In a manner that says if he doesn’t, he may die. You look up at him before curling your fingers around his own. He doesn’t react. You squeeze his hand gently, peering at him. A tear rolls down his cheek. You switch your eyes back to staring straight in front of you as he is doing. You see the reporter on the TV but it’s a blur. You’re not really paying attention. The only thing you can think about is how much the cameras would love to show this picture on the news and how soft his hand is intertwined with yours.

                The day’s events feel foreign now as you sit here with him. He doesn’t want to talk about it, you can tell, but you listen anyway. You listen to the occasional sniffle and heavy breathing and wish so much that it could have been you today. Nobody would have cared as much if it had of been you.

                “Maybe next year,” you whisper. He laughs. He genuinely laughs and you’ve never heard anything better in your life. You look up at him and his eyes meet yours.

                “Yeah,” he smiles, “maybe next year.”


End file.
